A little poem I found scrawled in the convolutions of my brain.


Leaves by frahnkee





Does she love the half light,

the oblique mirror,

the sheen?

Are her fingers,

thrown against the white sky,


Is she always listening for

bells and


rustling footsteps

on the leaves?

Does autumn move her,

fire and gloom,

a winter white lover

holding secrets

under the black soil?


Within the hollow tree

she stands.

Knowledge trickling


down the vision

is not apart

from nature

but is in all things

that carpet

the earth.


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